


How to distract your scientist when he's not paying any attention to you

by bitter_crimson (Krim)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-23
Updated: 2008-02-23
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krim/pseuds/bitter_crimson
Summary: I've had this story floating around in my head since I first sawthis picturea while back. Then, I made the picture my desktop background and kept getting distracted by porny thoughts in class. Finally, I have porned successfully. Maybe now I'll actually be able to concentrate on school again. ;p Oh, and also, I think this might be the first time I've written in second person? This story wouldn't let me write it in anything else.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Wie man seinen Wissenschaftler ablenkt, wenn er dich nicht beachtet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592499) by [bitter_crimson (Krim)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krim/pseuds/bitter_crimson)



> I've had this story floating around in my head since I first saw [this picture](http://pics.livejournal.com/bitter_crimson/pic/001wke71) a while back. Then, I made the picture my desktop background and kept getting distracted by porny thoughts in class. Finally, I have porned successfully. Maybe now I'll actually be able to concentrate on school again. ;p Oh, and also, I think this might be the first time I've written in second person? This story wouldn't let me write it in anything else.

  


 

You've been trying to distract McKay for the past half-hour with little success. Even the temptation of food won't pull him away from his laptop. Absolutely everyone else in the science department seems to be gone off to lunch, but Rodney is still here, hunched over the metal lab table in a manner that looks extremely uncomfortable. You've heard him complain time and time again about his back, and it doesn't surprise you, when he sits like this most of the time.

Thinking about McKay's posture makes you straighten up against the wall, and you clear your throat, but Rodney doesn't even look up. He just mutters something and furrows his brow a little deeper, hand moving across his laptop's touch pad. Under the table, his legs shift as he fidgets on his stool -- you should talk to some of the people in requisitions about getting some better-quality office furniture brought in from Earth -- and the fabric of his uniform pants stretches tight across the tops of his thighs.

You suck in your breath, and try to convince yourself that what you're contemplating is a bad idea. But there were only a couple of people working in this lab earlier, and on previous visits you've noted that they each take a minimum of 45 minutes to eat lunch. It's only been 15 minutes so far, so you figure you should be safe. You're already standing by the door, so it's easy enough to lock it; that should give you some warning, should anyone return early.

You turn your attention back to Rodney. It takes only a few quick strides to cross the room to the lab table, and even when you're standing right in front of him McKay still doesn't look up, but that's all right. You're pretty sure you'll have his attention soon enough. You drop down into a crouch and push the boxes under the table to the side, settling onto your knees, your ass resting on the backs of your calves. The floor is cold, and so's the table above you, as you discover when you bump your head on it. There's not very much room to maneuver under here. Still, you think, there's more than enough room for what you have planned.

You begin by wrapping your hands around the tops of Rodney's thighs, at the edge of his knees. It helps to steady you, as you're still a little precariously balanced on your knees and heels, and Rodney's legs are tight muscle and warmth under your palms and fingers. You feel him stir above you, hear him say something, sounding surprised, but you don't pay any attention to the words. He's ignored you for the past half-hour, and now you're going to do what's been on your mind that entire time, no matter what Rodney says.

When you shift forward your head bangs on the top of the table once or twice, and you wince, but still manage to get into a good position, squarely between Rodney's spread legs. Slowly, you run your hands up his thighs, keeping your grip to help you maintain your balance, your thumbs pressing into the softer flesh on the inside of Rodney's thighs, rubbing in little semi-circles as you move higher. The fabric of Rodney's pants bunches against your fingers and thumb as you ascend, rising in little ridges you drag your fingers over.

Dimly, you're aware of labored breathing, both your own and Rodney's from above. As your hands reach the tops of Rodney's thighs, that place where they meet his torso, you feel him shift his weight under your grip, and a hand is suddenly against the side of your head, lightly carding across the top of your ear and up into your hair, fingers scraping softly across your scalp, grasping gently at chunks of your hair.

Grudgingly you release your hold on one of Rodney's thighs to attempt the fly of his pants, and he opens his legs a bit wider to give you better access. You have trouble managing with just the one hand, and have to momentarily let go of his other thigh as well, resting your forearms on the tops of his legs as you employ both hands together to undo the button and zipper. Rodney tells you to stop a moment, and you glare up at him through the table, annoyed. He takes his hand out of your hair and pushes your arms off his legs, and you're about to protest when he scoots his stool backwards a bit, putting just enough space between himself and the table so you won't hit your head any more.

You follow Rodney forward, remaining on your knees, thinking absently that you probably look a bit ridiculous and not caring one bit. Above you, Rodney tells you to hold on a bit, and once again you're about to glare, but then he just pushes himself up from the stool long enough to pull his pants down far enough to give you adequate access to his boxers, and hey, you'll admit that's pretty farsighted of him. There are definite advantages to sleeping with a genius.

And you're set, now, head no longer hitting the table, floor still cold under your knees but you hardly even notice it any more, putting your hands back on Rodney's thighs, slipping one hand inside the fabric of his cheap cotton boxers to feel for his cock. It's already a little hard, which you expected, but still, wrapping your hand around it and feeling the heat and weight of it is enough to send an extra surge of arousal running through your own body as well. Rodney's breath hitches as you start moving your hand in a slow rhythm, and now both his hands go back into your hair, their grip a little tighter than before, and you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, completely focused on the feeling of your hand moving up and down, a little faster now, on Rodney's cock, stiff and completely solid in your hand, and okay, you can't wait any more.

Rodney makes a distressed noise when withdraw your hand out of his boxers, and you want to tell him to relax but you don't think you're really capable of coherent speech anymore, so instead you just shift your torso even closer, fitting yourself snugly between Rodney's knees, and then you reach back and pull Rodney's cock out past the thin cotton, see it big and red in front of you and everything else in the world just falls away. You bend your neck, wrapping your lips around the head, and all there is is your mouth on Rodney's cock, your hands on Rodney's thighs, Rodney's hands in your hair and on your face, Rodney's broken moans and gasps hanging in the air above you.

You fall easily into a pattern, letting Rodney's cock slide against your throat as you move your head up and down, pausing sometimes with his cock almost out of your mouth to run your tongue around the head, or pulling off and licking a long stripe up the center of the shaft. His skin is hot against your mouth, in your throat, slick from your spit and his pre-come. He starts thrusting a little, hips jerking up off the stool in tiny movements, and you hold his one thigh harder with your left hand to help him stay balanced, removing your other hand and frantically trying to get your own BDUs opened without the use of both hands, getting frustrated but finally managing to undo the button and pull the zipper open enough to allow yourself some room, shoving your hand down your boxers and roughly jerking yourself as Rodney tightens his grip on your head and holds you there as he thrusts more and more now, harder, fucking your mouth, and you try as hard as you can to keep your teeth sheathed, keep Rodney's cock from slipping out of your mouth, keep Rodney from toppling off his stool and both of you from falling over onto the floor.

And then Rodney's crying out, completely broken-apart, thrusting once, twice more into your mouth and then coming, and you try to keep as much of it in your mouth as you can, but as he pulls out some gets on your chin and then on the front of Rodney's pants. You swallow what you can, coughing a little bit, working your right hand harder on your own cock, and it's only a couple minutes more before you're able to bring yourself off as well, fixating on the tableau presented before you, Rodney barely upright on his stool, his body completely slack, head lolling to the side and eyes almost closed, taking shallow breaths as he tries to come back down, that bit of come staining the front of his open pants wet, his spent and softening cock still hanging out in the open air.

You grunt when you come in your boxers, and know that you're going to need to figure out a way of getting cleaned up enough to avoid suspicion when the other scientists return, which will probably be any minute now. Rodney, too, is in need of some serious assistance before he looks anything like normal, and after a quick assessment of your possible options, you decide you'll both probably be able to make it to McKay's quarters without being spotted by too many people in the halls, where you can get cleaned up and get Rodney some coffee, and then maybe you can finally drag him off to the mess to get something to eat, because even if he denies it, you know it's not possible to function on coffee alone.

"John," Rodney says softly, dreamily, running one of his hands lightly over your hair now, a barely-there feather of a touch.

"Yeah," you say, standing up, feeling your knees crack a little from being stuck in that position on the floor for so long. You stick out your hand and Rodney takes it, and you pull him to his feet, steadying his body against your side. "C'mon, let's go get something to eat."


End file.
